We’ll call the guy Ace and the girl Olivia. I messaged them both, starting with Olivia. Just a friendly, “Hey, Olivia!” She got back to me right away, welcoming me to Hamburg, asking how long I’ve been here and what brings me. Then, after a short conversation, she went quiet.
It was all good, though, because I still had Ace to chat with. He mentioned attending university in the States in his profile, my perfect in. I said hello and we chatted a bit about his time abroad and other places he’d visited. Of course, the conversation shifted to my move to Hamburg, how I like it here, and me getting a good grasp on the language. Ace suggested I help him with his English and he can help me with my German (good one, Ace).
I’ve been treading the Tinder waters for a few days now and I’m happy to say that I’m knee-deep in potential Tinder friends! But I won’t say SUCK IT to naysayers just yet. Not until I’ve got one of ’em locked down for good (locked down in my friendship, of course).
AKA what I’m trying to do right now.
And when I say friends, I mean JUST friends. Friends sans benefits.
So I’ve officially made it through my first full week in Germany. Here are my initial thoughts, observations, questions, and concerns:
How many of you are familiar with, what I now like to call, my Australian Milk Crisis? A few, at least. The taste of the milk was one of my few gripes with my time in Australia. It was just different. I gave it a try upon arriving to Melbourne and promptly decided that I wouldn’t drink another drop of it. And I didn’t. The entire six months I was there, I didn’t drink milk.
And everyone is asking how I feel. Here’s the answer:
dnjklbcuho8934bbcj lwnu32p 8 94 ubflalh3ilh3ubibjklbkbuie29 ncjielwjdklbsoi bjcbeuail8793h289 cbjklewq 3g7pdajknn uipehc 89phaui3 du3 nuciagld79p3 budipgq89pncidhluilualh4893 buibskhdiblk hc7483oguibc nb,dialappolwop3io
Not sure what to make of that? Me neither. Welcome to my brain.
In a tiny apartment right off a roundabout, with a window just tall enough to make me feel like I’m outside when I sit in front of it.
I want to buy red flowers to hang on the railing of said window, and there will always be a stack of book beside it because that will be my favorite place to read.
I’m in Paris and I’m pretty sure the love of my life is here, too.
His name is Etienne or Henri or something else that only sounds good in a French accent, and he wears a man-bun that I love to hate. He might not want kids but he owns his favorite book in every language (he got them from each country he’s visited, obviously). He’s the still pull out my chair and always (ALWAYS) take out the trash kind of traditional, but could be found cooking dinner on a rare night. Of course, I won’t eat it. I don’t like his cooking.
Who’s surprised? Anyone? Anyone at all?
After my last big move—NYC to Melbourne, Australia in 2013—I told myself that I was done for a while. It was time for me to ignore the tiny (screaming) voice in my brain, the constant hum of gogogo, to settle down, and focus on my career.
Now, just three years later, I’m proud to say that I’ve gotten my foot in the door of the publishing industry. Not only have I published 2 novels, but I’ve also had the opportunity to work for both small and large publishing houses. Even better, I’ve launched New York City Writers Network, which is growing more every day. I’ve accomplished so much and I’ve learned even more—now it’s time to drop everything and gogogo.